


mechanics

by starfishing



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-27
Updated: 2012-10-15
Packaged: 2017-11-15 04:11:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/522999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starfishing/pseuds/starfishing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>watching his pack find their places (rearranging, reiterating, reclaiming) is a proud thing, a validation. they're tuning into their instincts, they're becoming wolves. they're becoming family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. dynamics

Watching his pack find their places (rearranging, reiterating, reclaiming) is a proud thing, a validation. They're tuning into their instincts, they're becoming wolves. They're becoming family.

It takes a little while to resign Erica to standing beneath Derek instead of beside him. She's dying to be his mate - not to have sex with him (no, she's dying for that, too, but that's not what she really wants), but to stand as his equal, to have him treat her as his partner and not as his beta. He deflects her as gently as he can while being continuously tempted by her newfound, not-yet-mastered sexuality. What it takes, ultimately, is a sitdown and an embarrassing conversation. He tells her she's his beta, she's just a pup, and that's not why he won't have sex with her (she asks him why, but he glosses over the answer; there's no need to let her in on his insecurities or his abandonment and trust issues, if she hasn't already caught on), but it's why she needs to learn her place. Her place is not at his side, but behind him. She's wounded, but within days, she bounces back.

Then it's Isaac versus Erica, all day, every day, for nearly two weeks. Derek lets them fight, because it keeps them busy and it's good for them, even though he'd rather have Isaac above Erica any day. He'd rather have Isaac above everyone - true that Scott is stronger, a better leader to leave behind if something were to happen, but Isaac is smart, driven, cool. He keeps his head and he follows orders and to be honest, Derek almost trusts him. In the end, Isaac wins anyway, if only barely. Erica bellies around for a few days, licking her wounds, before she gets into a brawl with Boyd. That one ends in her favour, and an order is established: Derek, Isaac, Erica, Boyd.

Scott comes around more often, but he won't play these dominance games, not unless Derek riles him up. And he won't. He doesn't want Scott to fight from feelings of anger; he wants him to fight for a right, for a place. It might be a while yet before Scott really commits to the pack, but Derek is willing to wait. It'll be worth it to have his whole heart in it, in the end.

It ends up being Jackson who upsets the whole hierarchy. Derek shouldn't be surprised at that, and he isn't - Jackson has a problem with anyone who's better than he is, and he has a problem with Derek. What surprises him is how, exactly, Jackson goes about breaking the rules.

He's the bottom bitch of the pack from the get-go, and they don't let him forget it. Scott doesn't bother with him much, even when they're both around, but Isaac and even Boyd make it a point to loom, to chase him out of a room when he comes in, to make him stand so they can sit. The fact that Jackson keeps coming back says volumes for his determination to be one of them. Erica is less of a bully, but no less cruel; she feigns interest and lures him in, teases and flirts and waits for him to make his move, and then she shuts him down and saunters away, rubbing against Boyd as she passes. Jackson seethes and then he falls for it again.

She doesn't do it more than twice, though. By then, Jackson has a plan of action, and he puts it into play early one morning, just before sunrise.

Derek is trying to sleep, but he woke up an hour ago and it's rough. He hears every sound in the forest this morning, and he hears Jackson approach, too (like he heard his car when he parked it ten minutes upwind), but he doesn't lift his head. The footsteps hesitate halfway across the room. Jackson drops to all fours and slinks close. Derek can hear his body brushing the floor from the low-crawling and has a flash of the Kanima, prowling, thrashing tail and mindless devotion. The hair on the back of his neck rises, but he still doesn't look up. Jackson is his now, and there's no need to worry.

And Jackson is emphatically his this morning. He draws right up beside Derek and lies down, just barely not touching. Derek listens to his breathing as it slows, his nervous heartbeat as it gradually eases up in the presence of his alpha. It's the rhythm that puts him to sleep, and he doesn't stir again for two hours.

He does it again and again: little stolen moments, whenever Derek is alone. Jackson appears and just stays close, lying or sitting beside him, close enough to touch but carefully (grudgingly, Derek thinks) respectful, and always, always, frightened. Derek never says a word about it (it's not news that he scares Jackson shitless; a lot of things do, and Derek scares a lot of people), just lets him stay until his heartbeat slows. Bottom bitch or not, Jackson has the right to seek out time with his alpha, albeit not as much right as the others. But he only finds Derek alone, and he's always gone before anyone else interrupts. He's doing nothing wrong.

That should have been Derek's first clue.

It's a full three weeks of this before Jackson tries anything new. Derek's just growing accustomed to Jackson at his side during quiet times, close enough to share warmth in the evenings or mornings. It's pleasant, largely because Jackson doesn't ever open his mouth. (No pup like a quiet pup, Derek's dad used to say. He'd crack a wry, crooked grin and ruffle their hair, because whoever heard of a quiet pup in this family?)

And when he does make his move, all he says is (voice low and infinitesmally quivering) 'Can I?' 

He's crouched beside the mattress Derek's lying on, six minutes to midnight on a Friday night, and for a second, Derek doesn't understand what he wants. It's only when Jackson puts a hand on the mattress that it makes sense. Derek looks long at him before he shifts to the far side of the mattress, but he doesn't say yes. He watches closely as Jackson settles on the edge, slides into the bed and stretches out alongside, just barely not touching - and pillows his head, cautiously, on Derek's bicep. His heart is rabbiting in his ribcage; he's terrified, avoiding eye contact, but as always, he's dogged. He doesn't move away, even when a low growl bubbles in Derek's throat.

That's why Derek lets him stay that night. The kid should be rewarded for perseverance, and for balls in the face of an alpha's warning growl. He lets him sleep beside him, and he wakes up in the morning with an arm draped over Jackson's side and a warm face pressed into his bare shoulder. Jackson's a sound enough sleeper that Derek can extricate himself without upsetting him, and once he does, he goes for a run.

It becomes the new normal soon enough: Jackson in his bed first every weekend, and then it bleeds into the week. He goes to school like he always has, but he doesn't bother going home anymore. (Derek hears Scott ask him about it once, awkward but concerned, and all Jackson says is, 'There's nothing to go home to.') He sleeps with Derek for a week solid before the night everything goes sideways.

At ten 'til one in the morning, Derek's dozing off and comfortably warm, half-under the weight of his youngest beta when he feels fingers brush his thighs and a hand cupping him gingerly. He stirs and his cock twitches; he opens his eyes to Jackson's bowed head and tense shoulders.

Derek growls, a sound deep enough to swallow, and Jackson freezes, but only for a second. A moment of terror and then he's squeezing Derek, rubbing a thumb along the bulge in his underwear. Derek moves fast, comes over Jackson in the bed and scares him right down into the mattress, belly-up and hands on Derek's chest to try to stop whatever's coming. What comes is bared teeth (unsharpened, but intimidating in their implications, if the catch in Jackson's breath is any indication) and a sleep-rough growl of 'What the hell do you think you're doing?'

Jackson flattens his trembling palms on Derek's chest, moves his hands south and says unsteadily, 'I want you to -'

His throat swallows the rest and chokes on it. Derek leans closer. 'You want me to what, Jackson?'

'F-fuck me.' He has to spit the words out, but he does it with a fierceness. 'I want you to fuck me.' The second time is quicker, bolder. Derek thinks that if anyone else is awake, they can hear this. He can't hear anyone moving, but that doesn't mean they're not listening.

He doesn't move away, but his tone turns noncommittal, the husky edges smoothing out. 'Why? I thought you were into girls.' He can tell from the way Jackson's eyes flicker aside that he's right. Derek presses his jaw to Jackson's, his lips hovering near his ear, and speaks just loud enough to be heard over Jackson's racing heart. 'What do you really want?'

Jackson's breathing grows harsher; Derek wonders for a second if he misjudged. Maybe the kid's a fence-straddler, or bicurious. Maybe Derek's some kind of experimental foray for him. It's almost flattering. But then Jackson says, 'I want them to respect me.' He grinds the words out between his teeth, and he's still shaking with fear, but there's something else there - an anger, a resentment, an infected wound.

Derek marvels to himself. Even he hasn't given Jackson enough credit: he's sorted out the hierarchy, chosen his place and come poised to take it in a couple months' time. He wants to be Derek's mate, because he thinks (misguidedly, but not altogether incorrectly) that it's the way to earn the pack's respect, to get himself up off the bottom of the ladder. It's one way, true, but it's not really going to get Jackson what he wants.

And Derek could tell him that - should tell him that, maybe, but when Jackson's done so well bringing himself this far, it seems like a shame to let him stop working for it. The disregard of the rest of the pack has made him hungry, and his hunger makes him tenacious. So he doesn't tell him that this isn't the answer, and he doesn't tell him no. Instead, he tilts his head and waits for Jackson to come to him.

It's four seconds and a hard swallow before Jackson's mouth crashes into his. Derek kisses him into the bed and ruts against him. They're both hard faster than expected, because Derek's always preferred women, and Jackson's even straighter, he's almost sure. But there's something attractive about the ferality of it, and that's why Derek slams him into the bed when he flips him over. Jackson owes Erica a thank you after this, because the pre-lubed condom is the only relief he's getting when Derek's rough and unapologetic, and Derek sure as hell didn't buy them.

He's kind enough to jerk Jackson off while he fucks him facedown into the bed. Jackson keeps saying 'oh God,' and it's hard to tell if it's a good or a bad thing, except when he says it as Derek sinks his teeth into his shoulder.

The mattress isn't any cleaner when they're finished. Jackson picks himself up off the bed, cringing, as Derek lies down. He's halfway to the door when Derek says, 'Where do you think you're going?'

'Home,' Jackson snaps. 'I want a shower.'

Derek turns his head to grin at him, teeth bright in the moonlight. 'I don't think so. You wanted to be the alpha's top bitch? You got it. Now come to bed.'

Jackson fumes, but obeys. He still doesn't understand how mistaken he is. Derek draws him close and holds him there while he writhes in discomfort. On the other side of three walls, Isaac whispers something muffled to Erica, and she growls.

Tomorrow should be interesting.


	2. kinetics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As long as it took Jackson to get to where he thought he wanted to be, it takes him no time at all to figure out that it isn't, in fact, where he actually wants to be.

As long as it took Jackson to get to where he thought he wanted to be, it takes him no time at all to figure out that it isn't, in fact, where he actually wants to be.

The next morning, when Derek finally releases his aching, filthy body and lets him put his pants back on as delicately as possible, he takes two steps out of the room and something hits him in the chest like a sledgehammer, if sledgehammers weighed a buck ten and had claws. He's down on the floor with Erica on top of him, her legs locked onto his sides and her teeth bared inches from his face, and all he can think about is the incredible lancing pain shooting through his ass. He was fine when he woke up, but now he could swear Derek ripped him apart.

'Get the hell off of me, you basic bitch,' he snarls. Her claws sink deep into his arm, bicep and tricep, and she obliges, yanking him up off the ground after her. Once he's on his feet, she backhands him with a force that a hurricane would admire, and he goes right over the landing and down to the first floor, where Boyd and Isaac are waiting. They don't attack him, just place their boots over his hands, on his chest, and hold him down while Erica descends the stairs casually.

She leans into his field of vision, all eyeliner and teeth and tits. 'What do you think you're up to?' He bares teeth, feeling them threaten to grow in his mouth. She continues as if he did nothing at all. 'Do you seriously think you're gonna get somewhere, sleeping with Derek?'

Jackson can't help but laugh, then, even under the crushing weight of Boyd's foot. 'Oh, I get it. You're upset because he didn't want to get his dick wet with you.'

One of his fingers breaks beneath Isaac's shoe, and he chokes off a yell. 

'I'm not upset,' Erica assures him, but she doesn't stop Isaac. 'I'm pissed.'

Another finger breaks, and while Jackson's swallowing another scream, he hears feet on the stairs. Derek. Derek will stop them.

'Good morning,' Isaac says with a smile in his voice, and Jackson twists his head to see Derek nod to them as he walks by. He's out the door and gone.

The next half-hour is a blur of broken ribs and the taste of blood. When Jackson finally picks himself up out of a corner, it's only by the grace of Scott's arrival. The other three look appropriately cagey, but not afraid - Scott is still in many ways an outsider, and he won't impose his rules on the rest of them. They slink out unreprimanded, and Scott tries to help Jackson stand. He shoves him, and though Scott barely budges, Jackson feels better for the offended look he wears.

'I'm trying to help,' Scott says, somewhere between pissed off and wounded. 

Jackson spits blood near Scott's shoes. 'If I wanted that kind of help, McCall, I'd buy a fucking poodle.'

He doesn't see Derek until nightfall, when his wounds are mostly healed, but his body still aches. His ass, at least, has recovered completely.

He's waiting on the bed, where Erica either doesn't dare or hasn't thought to come looking for him, and when Derek walks in, he jumps to his feet. Whatever words he had planned (why didn't you save me, you let them beat my ass, I thought we had a deal) die on his tongue when Derek locks eyes with him. Something inside him cowers, and it takes everything he has to stand up straight.

Derek is silent as he strips off his jacket, shoves off his boots. His shirt comes over his head, and Jackson chooses that moment to cross the room, stopping right in front of him. When the shirt comes off, they're face-to-face. All Derek offers is a raised eyebrow.

'You walked _right_ past me,' Jackson accuses.

Derek tosses his shirt with his jacket and reaches down to unbuckle his belt. 'Yeah, I did. You wanna know why?'

Jackson works his jaw around the distant feeling of tears. Derek doesn't even look like he's approaching concern. Maybe it was stupid of Jackson to think he could belong here, either, or anywhere at all. The pack still hates him, and even Derek doesn't give a shit.

'Why?' he asks when he's sure he won't sound like a bitch.

Derek drops his hands, pants undone and hanging on his hips. 'Because me saving your ass is just going to make them hate you more.'

Jackson actually feels his face betray him - his eyebrows draw in and his lips part; he tilts his head in confusion. Is this asshole trying to say he did this for Jackson's benefit, somehow?

'No, that's not how this works!' As soon as the words leave his mouth, he realizes this constitutes yelling at Derek Hale, which is tantamount to a death wish, but he can't make himself shut up. 'They're supposed to respect me. They're supposed to _have_ to respect me! Because I'm your - your mate, or whatever, they have no choice!' What finally stops him is his voice breaking, and he lapses into a trembling silence.

Derek takes his shoulders and guides him back to the bed, making him sit. Jackson doesn't have it in him to argue; his shaking legs are grateful for the mattress.

Derek joins him, sliding back to the wall. Only then does Jackson notice the lighter in one hand and the cigarette in the other. He's never really noticed the smell of smoke on Derek, not in all his time practically spooning with him, unless it was campfire or bonfire smoke. 

'You smoke?' he asks lowly, watching Derek light up.

With a shrug, Derek says, 'Sometimes,' and holds the cigarette out to Jackson. Jackson turns his head away, annoyed.

'I'm a goddamn athlete,' he mutters.

Derek's eyes roll extravagantly. 'It doesn't matter. Your lungs heal themselves.' He doesn't offer again. Instead, he says, 'Do you get it?'

Jackson understands immediately that they're not talking about lung cancer now, but he doesn't know what topic they've jumped to at first. 'Get what?' he demands agitatedly.

'What the problem with your little scheme is.'

Sullen, Jackson slides back to the wall beside him, legs stretched across the mattress. 'No.'

Derek exhales a short white plume and glances out the window at the treetops. 'You can't _make_ people respect you, Jackson.'

'The hell I can't.' The words are just a mumble, and his heart isn't in it. Derek ignores the remark appropriately.

'If I come to your rescue when they get on your case, they'll eventually leave you alone. But they're not going to respect you. They'll resent you.'

Jackson rolls his head back against the wall. 'They respect you,' he says, staring at a cobweb. He feels Derek shift beside him. 

'I earned it,' he says, and it doesn't sound smug like Jackson wants it to. It sounds simple, matter-of-fact, if a little condescending like everything else out of Derek Hale's mouth. 'I gave them a gift. I improved their lives and gave them somewhere to call home. Somewhere to go, any time, any day. That's what this pack is.'

Jackson's throat tightens. He stays silent, hoping Derek isn't watching his eyes brim in the moonlight.

'If you want their respect, you have to earn it. Show them what you're worth.'

Nothing, Jackson thinks, and he closes his eyes. His lashes catch the tears, but he's sure Derek can tell. If he notices, though, he doesn't mention it.

The room is silent while Jackson swallows the lump in his throat twice, three times. Finally, he says, 'Why did you....' There's probably a better way to phrase this than the one he's thinking of.

'Mate you?' Derek offers. Jackson nods minutely. 

'You knew it wouldn't work, so - what? Are you just gay?' His voice gathers strength as he speaks.

Derek snorts smoke. 'No.' He takes another drag before he answers. 'I wanted to let you make your own mistakes.'

It's such a - fatherly thing to say, almost, and it surprises Jackson into looking at him. Derek looks calmly back, eyes dark in the shadows of the room.

'So you're gonna keep letting me screw up?' 

'Until you get it right.' Derek holds the cigarette toward him.

The smoke is acrid and scratches at his throat, but Jackson doesn't cough. He drags and he hands it back. 

'Then let me keep being your mate,' he says. 

Now it's Derek's turn to look surprised. 'Are _you_ gay?' Surprise gives way to amusement too fast for Jackson's taste.

'No.' There's no defensiveness left in the word, not after having been asked that very same question for years. (Because by high school logic, having a gay best friend means you're into dudes. Jackson decided to stop getting pissed about that a long time ago. It was just ignorance, not usually malice.) 'But I can't prove myself from the bottom of the pack.'

Derek fixes him with a long, thoughtful look. 'Fine,' he says, 'but it's not just a title.'

'You mean you want to keep nailing me.' It's not a question. The implications of Derek's answer are pretty clear. 

'I mean actions have consequences.'

Jackson looks at him again, watches him put out his cigarette on the floorboards. He imagines that 'actions have consequences' is the kind of thing his real dad would say.


	3. kinematics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson looks a lot less smug with four rabbits in his lap. If Isaac didn't know any better, he'd swear he heard Derek laugh.
> 
> It's on a day like this that they run into the bear.

They don't rough him up again. Isaac can almost see Jackson wondering if Derek chastised them for it, but he knows as well as anyone that their alpha isn't exactly softhearted. (Compassionate, yes, but a proprietor of tough love above all else. He knows Jackson can take a beating, and he knows his pack was just asserting their dominance.)

But it _is_ Derek who makes them hesitate when they think about doing it again; when Jackson slinks through the room reeking of sex and Derek's leather (a different scent from any of theirs, a meaningful one), not because they're afraid of his reprimand, but because he _has_ chosen Jackson, after all. Whatever the reason, he's taken Jackson into his bed, and that's enough to give the rest of the pack pause.

They can hear the two of them sometimes, late into the night or early in the morning, just before sunrise - Jackson panting and swearing softly, Derek nothing but ragged breathing and the hard catch of his throat when he comes. Isaac's never thought about sex with Derek before, but listening makes him hard. He wishes listening didn't make Erica sulk, because a handjob would be nice.

And they can hear them talking sometimes, voices hushed behind three and a half walls, so low that even their werewolf ears can't pick out the words, but their tones speak volumes. Jackson murmurs, insistent and inquisitive, into the space after their sex, and Derek takes his time in answering: short, soft, tired responses in notes Isaac's never heard before. He's glad he doesn't know what they're saying.

It goes on into summer, and the open air of the Hale house is humid and suffocating, their leather hung up for the hot months. Jackson hasn't left in weeks, and every night's been an exercise in self-control for Isaac, but he's getting better. The middle of the afternoon on a Thursday is when Erica opens the door to Derek's room and finds them, Jackson's head cushioned on Derek's thigh, Derek's fingers threaded through his hair. Isaac's right behind her, waiting for the two of them to spring apart like highschoolers caught red-handed in a 'study session,' but it never happens.

Derek just raises his eyebrows, expectant, too exhausted to be pleasant, and says, 'What?' Jackson turns his head and looks annoyed.

'Want us to take the keys and get something for dinner?' Erica asks when she finds her voice. She finds it at the same time Isaac's hand finds the small of her back, warm and damp through her tank top. He wonders if there's any correlation. 

The two of them shift, then, when Derek nudges Jackson upright and fishes through his pocket for his keys. He tosses them to Erica, and Jackson rearranges himself, head and shoulders across Derek's legs.

'Ginger beef and fried rice for me,' he says, proving that he's been listening to their downstairs conversations. Erica purses her lips and retreats, leaving Isaac to shut the door.

The two of them are halfway to town when she asks, 'Do you think they're really serious?'

'As opposed to what?' Isaac can't think of another explanation for what's been going on. 'I'm pretty sure they're serious.'

She nods, glancing in the rearview mirror, and eases up on the gas pedal as they blow past a speed limit sign.

Nothing changes, really, but Isaac counts that evening as the turning point. Erica still reserves her wittiest, most acidic quips for Jackson, and Jackson saves her his very best sneers, but Isaac learns how to sleep through the sex, and the next time Jackson's obscenities filter through the walls in the evening, Erica's hand wraps around him and he breathes relief.

Jackson's still the bottom bitch, but he seems placated. Maybe that's what happens when you're having sex with Derek Hale, or maybe Scott really was right about Jackson having nobody. Whatever the case, the pack's status quo is rearranged, and the long days carry on, each one hotter than the last.

They take to the woods sometimes to ease the boredom, chasing deer and rabbits for sport. Jackson's faster than any of the betas, and his ambition is infectious. He catches three rabbits in an hour one night, and the rest of them spend all week trying to break his record while he sits pretty on the porch with Derek, looking satisfied. Erica finally does it - she stumbles on four at a time, and lightning-quick, she snatches every one of them up. 

Jackson looks a lot less smug with four rabbits in his lap. If Isaac didn't know any better, he'd swear he heard Derek laugh.

It's on a day like this that they run into the bear. 

She's a massive mother of two, so big as to seem improbable, and she doesn't appreciate their proximity. Boyd laughs when Erica says they should run. 'How fast can a bear be?' he wants to know, and she's clumsy - but she's very fast.

She rolls through the trees after them at a gallop and they're not nearly far enough ahead of her, each of the four of them changing leads, jumping gullies, dodging trees. It's Isaac who misses the edge of the gulch and puts his foot in it. He hears his own bones break on the way down to the ground.

They're back in a second, Erica and Boyd, hauling him to his feet and bracing him on their shoulders, except Erica's not tall enough and his leg is dragging. The forest is still alive with the sound of the mother bear's pursuit. All Isaac can think is that Derek won't get here fast enough, though he probably heard every bit of this.

So it's lucky, he guesses, that Jackson is close.

He blows back through the trees, over the ditch and stops, feet slipping in day-old mud just twenty feet from the bear. Isaac only gets one good look at him as the other two drag him away, but it's an image that sticks with him: Jackson stands, legs trembling, directly in her path. She's not slowing down soon enough, and his jaw is set against terror, but he's not moving. Isaac can hear his heart over the sound of snapping twigs and rustling brush.

She's five feet from him, one dinner-plate-sized paw raised, when Isaac loses sight of them, but it's impossible to mistake what he hears.

Jackson's roar rips through the woods, leaving a deafening silence in its wake. Then he's chasing after them, catching up, and looking over his shoulder the whole way, but the bear isn't following. It's just the four of them and their racing heartbeats.

Derek meets them before they reach the house, and he takes Isaac's arm from Erica's shoulders and helps Boyd get him to the house. The bone's already started healing. Isaac grits his teeth and snarls when they break it again. 'It needs to heal straight,' Derek chides, wrapping his calf tight. Isaac sinks back in a sulk. Right or not, he's not a fan of broken bones.

While he's bandaged, he finds himself watching Jackson. Where Boyd and Erica are keeping close, watching Derek work, Jackson sits on the stairs, turning his shaking hands over and breathing slow and steady. Facing down that bear shook him to the core, that much is obvious. He's still there gathering his wits when Derek heads upstairs.

His hand brushes over Jackson's hair as he passes, and though his voice is low, they all hear it clearly.

'Thank you.'

Jackson goes still, squeezes one trembling hand with the other, and exhales when Derek's door closes behind him. 'You're welcome,' he says, but not to Derek - it's a pointed, half-heartedly snide remark in Isaac's direction.

He finds himself smiling. 'Hey,' he says, sitting up against the wall, 'I didn't _ask_ you to play chicken with a bear.' Jackson's eyes roll extravagantly. 

'But thanks,' Isaac adds. 'I guess.'

Jackson sleeps at the foot of the stairs that night, five yards from the rest of the pack. No one says a word.

**Author's Note:**

> i know a lot of you were rallying for derek/jackson romance, but it wasn't in the cards for this one. sorry! hope this was all right, anyway. thanks for all the notes and kudos; it's been encouraging to see my first fic in this fandom so warmly received. ♥


End file.
